“I understand; fire feels different to Firebearers.” Larel combed her fingers through her bangs. “I enjoy having fire around me. In the flames I don’t feel heat, but I do feel something there, like the essence of the flame.”

“You don’t feel heat?” Vhalla blinked.

“No.” Larel shook her head. “Fire can’t burn me unless it’s made by a much more powerful sorcerer.”

“I see,” Vhalla mused softly, watching Larel tuck the last of her bandages back into place.

“Good. Well, nothing seems out of order. I only wanted to check up on you.” The sorcerer sat back with a smile.

“You wanted to—or you were sent to?” Vhalla inquired.

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?” The woman stood. “Oh, and by the way, happy birthday.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?” she asked dumbfounded.

“When you were in our care, the minister sent for all your papers and records. I noticed your birthdate.” Larel fussed in a small bag for a moment. “Here.” She held out two small parcels.

“What’s this?” Vhalla accepted the treasures with both hands.

“Birthday presents, silly.”

Larel said it like it was nothing, but Vhalla placed them reverently in her lap. She barely expected her friends to remember her birthday, more or less get her anything. To have someone she had barely knew give her not one, but two gifts.

“Oh,” Larel added, “one is from Fritz. I made the mistake of telling him where I was headed this morning, and he was insistent.”

“Can I open them now?” Vhalla asked.

“Go ahead.” Larel nodded, giving a small smile at Vhalla’s girlish enthusiasm.

Vhalla placed one to the side, as she had a feeling she already knew what it was. Taking the smaller of the two gifts, she unwrapped the simple brown paper and twine to reveal a beautiful metal cuff. It was thin and turned up slightly on the sides with a small gap in the back to slide her wrist through. She studied it in the light. Embossed upon its surface were foreign runes that Vhalla didn’t recognize.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning it. Vhalla sincerely hoped her new friend had not spent too much.

“I’m glad you like it,” Larel beamed.

“I love it, Larel. Wherever did you get it?” She brought it closer to her face and inspected the writing carefully.

“I made it.” Seeing Vhalla’s startled expression, Larel added, “Firebearers are often jewelers or smiths. We can temper metal, make flame, keep heat. Not being able to be burned helps.”

“These markings?” Vhalla asked.

“They’re Western,” Larel answered.

Vhalla nodded, feeling overwhelmed. Turning to the other gift with the unassuming wrapping, she discovered an old and ragged book. The title had nearly faded, but the writing within was still completely legible: The Art of Air.

“Fritz felt bad because it wasn’t a real present you could keep forever,” Larel explained.

Vhalla shook her head. “This is amazing,” she whispered.

“I thought you’d like it.” The sorcerer grinned.

“Please, tell Fritz thank you for me,” Vhalla said, still turning the book over in her hands.

“Want to come and tell him yourself ?” Larel inquired. “You have the day off for your birthday, right? I’m sure the minister wouldn’t object into allowing you back into the Tower since you’ve yet to make an official decision.”

Vhalla considered it for a moment. She had enjoyed her time with Fritz, and reading with him again would be nice. Perhaps she could even eat more of the Tower’s food as a birthday present.

Her eyes turned to the window. The slit in the wall offered little light, but she could see the clouds drifting through the sky upon a fall breeze. Vhalla shook her head, overcome with the insatiable urge to be outdoors.

“Thank you for the offer. But I think I would like to be outside today,” Vhalla said thoughtfully.

“I understand,” Larel nodded and said with a tone that made Vhalla believe her. The dark-haired woman began to move to the door but paused, glancing at Vhalla’s closet once more. She opened her mouth briefly as if to say something but when she turned back, her expression changed. “Take care, Vhalla. We’re only a call away should you need us.”

“Thank you, Larel, for everything.” Vhalla smiled.

Larel poked her head out of the room and then crept away.

Wearing one of her gifts, she placed the other in her bag. The days were almost exclusively cool now, and her winter robes had finally arrived. They were spun from thicker wool and heavier materials than her summer and fall robes. Vhalla was perpetually cold, and she welcomed the cloth in all its itchy glory. Just like her summer robes, an open book was stitched on the back of her winter robes, marking her as one of the library. Vhalla stared at the blue thread. How much longer would she be wearing them?

Vhalla decided that she would actually give some care for her appearance today. It was her birthday. Another year older, another chance at maturing and developing womanly habits she had yet to find a taste for. Through her tarnished looking glass, Vhalla moved her head to fit in the palm sized reflection. Her hair seemed marginally better.

Vhalla had one special stop planned before she set out on her day. She headed upward into the sweaty din of the kitchens. It was a bustling place of noise and stomach-growling scents. Vhalla did not often have reason to frequent them, but on her birthday she hoped for one exception.